


Could Have Had It

by bactaqueen



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, M/M, creative lubrication, simultaneous slash and het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:23:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve, alone and out of place in the future, thinks back on what could have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could Have Had It

**Title:**  Could Have Had It  
 **Author:**  bactaqueen  
 **Rating:**  E  
 **Warnings:**  angst, sadness, simultaneous slash and het, and creative lubrication  
 **Setting:**  during  _The Avengers_  and also  _Captain America: The First Avenger_ (that makes sense I swear)  
 **Characters:**  Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter  
 **Disclaimer:**  This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.  
 **Summary:**  Steve, alone and out of place in the future, thinks back on what could have been.

 

Steve sets the punching bag against the wall and locks the front door. He drops his gym bag to the floor. He can see the dining table from where he's standing, and the packet on it--as promised--from Fury atop the other packet, the one full of memories. He stares at it for a long while. His eyes skate over the closed computer, and then toward the kitchen, to the corded phone on the wall in there, hard beige plastic holding the promise of Peggy's voice. Peggy's voice is the only familiar thing he might find in this new world, and even that, he knows, won't be right.

He suddenly feels very alone. The war was hell, but he'd give anything to have it back. To have Bucky and Peggy back.

Steve closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He'll go. He'll show up, he'll do what Fury asks. What else can he do? He'll fight down the memories, he'll do what he was created for, and maybe, in the end, maybe he'll let himself find Peggy. Maybe he'll let himself see her one more time. He has to put it all to rest. He can't live in the past. He never did before, this is no different.

But tonight... Tonight he's going to let himself linger. Just tonight, he tells himself. Then he'll go. He'll get back out into the world--he'll save it again (though he can't see what good saving it did the last time around). Loki's just another power-crazed monster with a toy he doesn't understand. He's no different from Red Skull.

Steve starts for his bedroom. He doesn't bother to turn on the lights; some habits don't die. He doesn't stop to pick up the briefing packet, either. There will be time enough for that later.

In the bedroom, he pauses in front of the bureau, in front of the framed photograph of Peggy. He knew he was taking liberties when he stole the old personnel photo, knew he was hopeless for buying the frame and setting it up where he could see it from his bed, but he doesn't care. Her hair frames her pretty face in careful waves and the bright white of her uniform shirt is crisp even in yellowing gray. He doesn't need color to remind him of the shade of her lipstick. Across the top of the bureau, at the other end, is Bucky. Bucky and the rest of the Commandos, hard-eyed men freezing in a German winter, but smiles on their dirty worn faces and laden with weapons. Steve remembers listening to the old men on the stoops, and later in the bars, in Brooklyn. He remembers watching them with their friends and listening as they talked about the Great War, carefully avoiding something he didn't understand. He understands those men now. He understands what they didn't talk about.

And none of them fought a war straight out of a science-fiction pulp.

The cool of his bedroom makes him acutely aware of the sweat sticking his t-shirt to his skin. He looks one last time between Peggy and Bucky and turns toward the bathroom.

Steve kicks off his sneakers on the way and strips in the cold darkness of the small room before he ever turns on the water. The blast of cold makes panic rise in his throat before the water starts to warm. He forces himself to relax with slow deep breaths as steam starts to billow up around him. The water is too hot, so hot it nearly scalds him, but it will never be hot enough. He doesn't feel like he'll ever be warm again. He ducks under the spray and lets it wet his hair, lets it wash away the sweat and grime and dirty memories of Fury's intrusion. He shuts off the real world and he shuts off the painful. Just for a while.

It's a moment of respite. They're in the bar and Bucky is beside him and Steve is immeasurably glad that he's alive and... not okay, he knows Bucky isn't okay, but that doesn't matter as much as it should because Bucky is  _alive_. Steve will do whatever it takes to help him be okay. He doesn't know how, because this is so much worse than anything they ever faced back in New York, but he'll do it.

The bar falls silent. He and Bucky lean back to see what got drunk soldiers to be quiet.

Peggy is a vision in red. Steve knew she was beautiful, even in the ugly SSR uniform, but seeing her in the bar... she was more than beautiful then, and now, in this fantasy. He lets himself believe, for just a moment, that she wore that dress just for him. She speaks to them--mostly to Bucky, which gives Steve the chance to just drink her in--and her voice is measured. It feels like a moment too intimate to be happening in public. He can feel the heat on his face.

In the real version of his memories, she turns and walks away and Steve spends the rest of the night sipping a beer while Bucky gets drunk. He takes Bucky to his quarters, strips him to his skivvies, and tucks him into bed. When Bucky screams himself awake, Steve pretends it doesn't rouse him from his own sleep.

But here in this version, things are very different. Bucky invites her to stay, saying the words Steve can't. Peggy does. She slides onto the seat between them and she takes Bucky's glass. Her lips are very red and Steve can't take his eyes off of her. He lets Bucky keep the conversation going. For all that Steve is Captain America, he's still scrawny Steve utterly terrified of women. He's put his foot in his mouth enough around Agent Carter. He's scared. He's scared and he wants her more than he has wanted anyone else--except for Bucky.

Safe in the distance of the future, separated from the painful reality of his feelings by seventy years, Steve can admit it to himself now. Maybe it's a malfunction of emotion, a wrong wiring in his brain, but there it is. He wanted Bucky.

He wanted them both.

Here, he can have them both. They drink. Peggy warms, leaning into Bucky as they flirt and tease. The bar empties. With each person gone, Peggy is freer to show a side of herself she has to keep hidden at work, when she's surrounded by men who think less of her for her sex, who wait for the slightest indication of incompetence, of girlishness. Bucky sees the change as clearly as Steve does. He responds to it, doing his best to make Peggy laugh--mostly at Steve's expense, because all of Bucky's best stories involve some failure of Steve's, but he can't bring himself to care--and succeeding.

The bartender announces last call. Steve feels a twinge of regret. He doesn't want the night to end. Bucky disappears with a wink at Steve, and he's alone with Peggy. Peggy, resplendent in red, warm-skinned and soft-eyed.

He wants to kiss her.

The lights go off, plunging the bar into dim red. Bucky's suddenly back, slinging an arm around Steve's neck and sloshing whiskey around in a half-empty bottle. He gives Peggy a sly grin.

"Come on, I got us a room."

Steve looks to Peggy, half-hopeful and half-mortified, and he sees her hesitation. He's ready to offer to walk her back to her quarters--he knows damn well that Peggy doesn't need his protection or his help, not even in that dress, but his mother might come back from the grave and twist his ear if he doesn't at least offer--but she meets his eyes and something in hers shifts. He has a moment of clarity. Peggy understands. Peggy understands and isn't mad. Steve glances at Bucky, Bucky who's grinning and bright-eyed and looking more than a little proud of his own cunning. Bucky who is not nearly as drunk as he's trying to pretend to be. Steve looks back to Peggy and offers his hand.

She accepts, a tacit agreement.

They climb two flights of stairs and Bucky lets them all into a dark room before he flings himself onto the bed. Peggy slips her shoes off and lights several candles as Steve locks the door. His hands are shaking. When he looks, Bucky is on his knees in the middle of the bed, taking a deep swig of whiskey straight from the bottle before he passes it to Peggy. Peggy, perched on the end of the bed, accepts it. She takes a long drink, too.

Bucky edges closer to Peggy, looking at Steve--maybe for permission (when did Bucky ever ask permission), maybe just to be sure he's watching. He puts his hand on the small of her back. Peggy doesn't move away. She doesn't flinch. She's looking at Steve, too, her dark eyes softened in the candlelight, and then she's turning to Bucky. Bucky slides his hand up her back and rises on his knees. He moves her hair back and over, exposing the creamy line of her neck. Two sets of eyes lock on Steve as Bucky kisses the curve of Peggy's neck, two sets of eyes seem to say,  _This is what you wanted. Join us._

Steve hesitates. He's seen this before, seen Bucky and a pretty girl on a rickety bed. The pretty girl never looked like she wanted him, not like Peggy does. This is different. He can't claim Peggy, she's not his. She's not Bucky's, either, and Steve knows she wouldn't be here if it was just Bucky. (That's what he tells himself.) Steve's the glue, the common factor. Without him, there is no them. He goes to them.

Bucky lifts the bottle from Peggy's fingers as Steve approaches, as Peggy wriggles around and gets up on her knees at the edge of the bed. When Steve is close, she's reaching for him, and he goes into her arms, closing his around her, brushing the front of Bucky's uniform with his fingers as he does. Peggy turns her face up and he has a moment to look down into her eyes. The words stick in his throat. He wants to ask, to clarify. Instead, he kisses her. She's warm and sweet, whiskey-flavored. Bucky is so close that Steve can smell him, more whiskey, warm skin, and aftershave.

Fingers on his jacket pluck open buttons, then slide inside and loosen his tie. When the kiss ends, when he's gasping for breath, he sees Bucky staring down at Peggy's back in concentration. Steve glances down at himself just as Peggy opens his shirt and smooths her hands across his chest. She burns him even through the cotton undershirt. Her fingers shake. Steve wants to cover her hands with his own, but the loosening of her neckline distracts him. Her dress gapes and he catches a glimpse of black lace. He looks up into Bucky's face only to catch sight of his familiar grin. Peggy, for her part, is giving him a small knowing smile.

He's out of his depth and he doesn't even care.

Peggy slides off the bed, as graceful as ever. She steps aside and turns so she's looking at both of them, from Bucky to Steve. She keeps her eyes on Steve as she shimmies out of the dress. Steve hears Bucky's soft gasp even over his own; Peggy is all lush curves and tantalizing lace. Her lips twitch and she moves in close. It doesn't take long before Steve's topless, his jacket and tie and shirts on the floor in a heap atop her red dress. She runs her hands over his chest lightly, following lines of muscle he didn't have before he went into Dr. Erskine's chamber, but he's having trouble breathing just the same as if he was having an asthma attack. He rests his hands on her sides and tries his best to keep his eyes on her face, no matter how badly they want to dip lower.

Movement in the corner of his eye makes Steve turn his head. Bucky's shrugging out of his jacket, grinning at the both of them.

"Let's get started, kids."

He tosses his jacket and shirt to the floor and ducks out of his dog tags. He opens his belt and winks at Peggy and leans across. Confusion makes Steve frown when Peggy leans back, and then Bucky's strong hand is on the back of his neck, pulling him in fast, and the kiss is hot and rough and wet and Bucky-flavored. Steve puts a hand on the back of Bucky's head, tangling fingers in the short soft hairs at the nape of his neck. The heat and strength here are different. There's something almost familiar about kissing Bucky.

Steve almost feels like he's home.

Peggy's hands fall to his belt as Bucky breaks the kiss. He presses his damp lips to Steve's cheek, along his jaw, and drops his hand to scratch his short ragged nails down Steve's side. He was always ticklish there; now, the feeling zips straight to his cock in a hot line. Peggy's fingers are quick, opening his pants and lowering the zipper, and her lips are soft and parted on his collarbone--her tongue against his skin makes him shiver--and he doesn't know where to turn, who to touch, who to kiss. Steve's fingers spasm at the small of Peggy's back. Her muscles are hard under soft skin, under silk, and her breasts are warm and heavy against his stomach. Her calloused hands scrape over his skin when she shoves his pants and boxers down. Steve's got one hand on Bucky's neck while Bucky nips at his shoulder, at his collarbone, and the pleased little sounds Bucky keeps making remind Steve of every time he sat in the hallway outside their room, trying not to listen and trying not to get hard imagining Bucky in there with a girl.

Steve stops fighting. He shuts his eyes and he loses himself.

In short order, they're all three naked, on the bed. Peggy is on her back below him, more incredible than any model he's ever seen, the insides of her thighs rubbing the outsides of his and her feet resting on his calves. She's got one arm around his shoulders and one hand between their bodies where she's cupping him, stroking him, and her tongue is in his mouth and he thinks he might die. Steve braces himself over her. Bucky's weight is against his back, Bucky's arm is around his middle, and Bucky's fingers tangle with Peggy's, the other hand stroking the curve of Steve's ass. Everything is hot and taut and Steve can't think, can only feel. When Peggy breaks the kiss to breathe, to suck at his neck and bike at his chest, Bucky is there, rough tongue thrust into his mouth. Steve goes back and forth between them, trapped and knowing there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

Peggy moans. Steve looks down between them, his eyes catching on her breasts with their peaked nipples, and then on the flat of her belly, before he's suddenly aware of the absence of Bucky's hand on him. Steve sees Bucky's fingers stroking Peggy's thigh and inching higher. He watches in fascination as Bucky touches her, gentle at first, then firm, his thumb and fingers working, hidden in the thatch of dark hair. Bucky twists his wrist and his fingers disappear, his thumb slides, and Peggy's arching her back. Steve can't help himself and doesn't, lowering his head to nuzzle her breastbone, to lick her breast, to seal his mouth over her nipple and suck gently. She arches, hips rocking and shoulders shifting, and Steve rubs his thumb along her side. He shifts his weight to support himself on one arm and takes his hand to join Bucky's between her legs. He touches her thigh, fingers the hot skin where her thigh meets her body, and strokes her higher, where she's hot and wet. Bucky pulls his fingers away to guide Steve's, and Peggy is drenched and impossibly tight when he slides two fingers into her. She shudders when his thumb finds the little nub above her opening.

He moans as she does. She's clenched, flexing around his fingers. Her nails dig into his shoulder and her hand tightens around his cock. Her rhythm falters. Steve runs his lips from her breast, up her neck, to cover her mouth with his own and swallow the quiet cry she lets out.

Bucky brushes kisses across his back, his sticky hand sliding back over Steve's hip, further still, over his ass and then sliding into the furrow. Steve arches his back and spreads his knees as wide as Peggy's legs will allow, granting Bucky access Steve desperately craves. The combination of Peggy's wetness on Bucky's fingers circling his pucker and then Bucky's fingertip pushed just inside makes Steve press his face to Peggy's neck and bite back a moan. His fingers inside Peggy falter and she whimpers. Bucky chuckles quietly and scrapes his teeth over Steve's neck. Steve turns his face, finding the right rhythm once more for Peggy--feeling her shivering, feeling her fingers still on his cock, listening to her breathy little pants and her quiet encouragement--and Bucky's lips are there, Bucky's breath is mingling with his own.

"Give me more of her," Bucky whispers, and it takes Steve's overloaded brain a moment to realize that he means more of Peggy's wetness.

Steve looks down at her. Her eyes are glazed, she's trembling, and her lips are bitten-raw red. Steve ducks his head to kiss her deeply, to stroke his tongue over hers, as he slides his fingers from her. He reaches between his legs, behind his balls, and presses his fingers into himself, first one, then two.

Bucky groans deeply. "Jesus Christ, Steve, that's fucking incredible."

Steve bites his lip and looks down at Peggy in time to catch her small smile. She slides her fingers through his hair and brings him back down, brushing her lips against his ear.

"Don't finish yourself off yet, soldier," she whispers.

Steve chokes off a whimper.

This is exactly where he wants to be.

The tip of Bucky's cock brushes his knuckles. Steve pulls his fingers from himself and grasps it. He glances over his shoulder as he gives Bucky's dick a few slow strokes; Bucky shuts his eyes and his expression tightens into bliss. It's the same look Steve saw, accidentally, the one time he walked in to find that girl on her knees with her mouth on Bucky--the look Steve always wanted to cause but never let himself think about. And then Bucky's shifting his hips, sliding from Steve's grip, settling his hands at Steve's hips, and leaning over to look past Steve's shoulder at Peggy.

He licks his lips and grins at her. "You ready, Agent Carter?"

Peggy smiles. "Oh, yes, Sergeant Barnes." She wraps her hand around Steve once more, and this time he's got Bucky's hands on his hips, and they're guiding him.

Steve pushes into Peggy. She yields, her sodden silk heat feels like a vice around him. He closes his eyes and moans with her, his arm giving out. He shifts his weight to the other before he falls on her, tucking the weak one beneath her, arching her back over his forearm and bringing her breasts up against his chest. He sinks in to the hilt. Her body goes tight and they remain still for long moments.

He shifts his hips back, slowly, sliding out of her, only to be met with with the tip of Bucky's cock against him. Steve freezes, momentarily afraid, before Bucky leans forward and pleasure melts his spine. Bucky pushes as Steve pulls and he's caught between the two of them. Bucky's hands tighten on his hips.

It goes on like that, back and forth, filling and being filled, trapped in a haze of pleasure. They rattle the little bed. Peggy twines her legs around him and Bucky's knees press against his, Peggy moves her hands to grip his sides and Bucky lays his chest against his back. Steve feels the loss of one of Peggy's hands; he hears the sharp gasp and glances down to find Peggy's hand on Bucky's flank. Peggy kisses him, kisses his neck, rubs her face against his chest and moans against him. When Steve turns his face, Bucky's lips are there, on the back of his neck, on his shoulders. They move together, an easy rhythm that picks up speed, that picks up heat, on and on until Peggy goes first--an elegant moan, a rhythmic flutter, her quiet whimper--and Steve second--clenching tight around Bucky, sliding into Peggy deep one last time, a low moan torn from his chest--and Bucky last--shoving in hard, his teeth sinking into Steve's shoulder.

He feels breathless and blind.

Steve pants, standing alone in his shower. The water begins to cool. He opens his eyes to look down at himself, at his softening member still in hand and the mess dripping from the tip, sliding down the wall. Shame burns his cheeks. Regret overtakes him. The distance of time doesn't seem as great anymore, and he feels like he's betrayed them, humiliated them somehow. He ignores the heat behind his eyes and the empty ache inside himself. Thinking about how profoundly alone he is just makes him feel even more guilty for reducing their memory to a dirty fantasy.

He rinses off and shuts off the water. He wraps a towel around his waist and scrubs his hands over his face. It's done, it's over, there's no going back--and if he can take some small joy from a fantasy, well, there's no reason to let the guilt eat him up. He wipes the steam from the mirror over the sink and stares hard-eyed at himself. There's a mission. He has a mission. The world needs saving. Again. Another battle needs to be fought and won.

Maybe after... Maybe after it'll be time for another flight across an ocean. Maybe he'll get a dance at the end of this one.


End file.
